If only just a dream
by Anonymous91
Summary: One shot. After Elena wakes in the morgue


Dread and guilt knot and twist together, swirling in the pit of her stomach, fuelling a fireball of nausea. Her chest tightens under the pressure of a new kind of fear, making her breaths come in short, raspy gasps. She pushes harder against the front door, afraid that her knees may buckle and her legs collapse under the weight of regret. Her heart hammers relentlessly against the sternum, desperate to free from the threat of breaking. Brain pounds the words he'd spoken against her skull, and her body shudders violently.

Elena pushes herself away from the door and wills her legs to work, to carry her, as she tries to race down the hallway, into the small toilet room, where she vomits the small contents she'd eaten today, and the fiery bile that claws at her insides.

Slowly, she stands, shakily, and rinses her mouth with the fresh, cool water from the bathroom tap, and she catches her reflection in the mirror; eyes are red, forehead glistens with sweat.

This isn't right. She's not meant to be a…she can't be a….how is she _one of them_? She can't even bring herself to think it.

_Vampire. _She silently words. _You're a vampire._

She bends over the sink again as a sudden rush of nausea threatens to take over. Dry heaving; the worst.

She can hear the footsteps before they are in the house, through the front door, hastily tapping their way down the hall, stopping outside the bathroom door.

She's not sure who she wants it to be.

"Elena?" The soft, worried voice of Stephen filters into her ears, loud and painful. She covers them, quickly, wishing for him to stop talking. Hoping he'll disappear. "Are you okay? Let me explain."

"Go away, Stephen." She manages, trying to be quiet, sure it sounds like a growl.

"Elena, please…" He's begging, his voice still soft, yet loud and scratchy in her ears.

_Go away. Go away. Go away._

Her heart begins to pump faster, her pulse is in her throat, and she wants to scream, shout, anything.

A heated ripping spreads through her gums, and it's not expected, and her hands fly from her ears to her mouth as she lets out a loud groan.

Fangs. She's hungry.

Her eyes feel swollen, and she gasps when she catches her reflection in the mirror. She's disgusted at the sight. Red veins pulsate under the skin, turning her from a normal teenager to a monster.

"Elena?" Sounding a little defeated, now.

She yanks open the door, tries to ignore the half sympathetic, half guilty expression laced across Stephen's face.

Of course he'd feel guilty. Even if it isn't his fault, he'd find a way to blame himself anyway.

"Look at me!" She cries, wincing as the sound of her voice echoes through her. "I didn't want this!"

"I know." He tries to grab her hand, and she pulls away. "Please, just let me…"

"Leave me alone, Stephen!" And she's running, faster than she's ever ran before, and she feels like she's flying, and she doesn't ever want to stop.

She's not sure what brought her here; the Salvatore boarding house. She stares. Once a safe place, now it's just another building. She wonders if he's inside, or if he's gone. If he's dead.

She'd never really appreciated the beauty of it before. The old wooden beams, the chipped yellowing paint, the lush lawn and the perfectly trimmed rose bushes. It's beautiful and she wonders if she's missed the importance, the intensity, the significance, of anything else in her human life.

Voices run, smooth and quiet and powerful, through her head.

"_Maybe if you and I had met first…"_

"_You want a love that consumes you…"_

"_A mysterious stranger that has all the answers…?"_

"_I want you to get everything that you're looking for…"_

"_Forget this happened…"_

She pulls away from the forgotten memories, no longer under _his _spell, and her feet are walking forward, probably too fast.

She doesn't knock when she reaches the front door.

Now, she can smell him, hear his breathing, each swallow of the bourbon she can pretty much taste in the air. She follows her senses, finds him sprawled on the sofa in front of the fire, his black shirt open to his belly button, his chest perfectly sculptured.

He doesn't look up when he talks to her.

"I see you've made it here…alive." And there's a wicked sarcastic tone, and a small grin pulling at his mouth. "What can I do for you, Miss Gilbert?" His eyes, deep and soulful, meet hers.

"I…I don't know." She shrugs, because she's lost in him, emotions stronger than before, out of control. Her feet take another step closer to him. And another. And another. And before she knows it, she's perching on the sofa next to his tensed body.

"Drink?" He offers her his half full glass. She takes it gingerly, sipping and almost spitting the fiery liquid out. She doesn't let him have it back. The slow burning in her throat and chest is the only thing keeping her sane right now.

"Thank you." She finally manages, studying his face. His eyes are rimmed with red; not from hunger, but from salty tears, his face has a fresh new worry-line creasing in his forehead, and his eyebrows are almost knitted together. But still, his beauty overwhelms her.

"I remember." She whispers, swirling the bourbon carefully in the glass. "Everything."

"Everything?"

"Yes. Everything."

He props himself up on his elbows, his breath close enough to intoxicate her.

"Oh." Another worry-line, and she desperately wants to reach over and smooth it away. "I'm sorry."

She's not sure why he's apologising; for being in love with her, for lying to her, for making her forget, for letting her chose Stephen, for not being there, but she knows she doesn't want to know. That would lead to a heavy conversation, and right now, she can't handle heavy.

"So am I." She puts the glass down, and she is sorry. Sorry for choosing Stephen, sorry for loving him too, sorry for being the doppelganger, sorry for making this so difficult.

"You love him." It's not a question, and it's full of defeat.

"I do." She nods, slowly. He already knows this. "But I love you, too." Honesty; something she's been running from, avoiding, for too damn long.

"But not enough." He pulls himself all the way up, so he's sitting, his knees brushing hers, and she can't ignore the electric passed between them both.

"More than enough."

"Elena…" He reaches over, and her heart stops. His voice, so sweet, so calm, so full of desperate sorrow and fear and love, caresses her gently. He strokes the lose strand behind her ear and she leans into his hand.

"I want…" she begins, taking his hand in hers. "A love that consumes me. I want passion. I want adventure. And, Damon, even a little danger." And she kisses the palm of his hand. "And I have a love that consumes me." She continues as he watches her carefully. "And I have had passion, and enough adventure and danger to last anyone a lifetime." She likes the small smile playing on his lips. "And I want to thank you, for all of that. But I'm not here to ride off into the sunset with you, Damon." She looks away from him, traces the lines on his hand. "I'm here because when you were dying, I was there for you, and I'd very much like it if you could return the favour."

"Elena, you're not dying. You can't, unless…" He trails off because he knows the answer.

"I'm not going to transition, Damon." And a tear rolls down her cheek, into her mouth, and the salty fluid makes her gums ache and head pound. And, just like that, he nods and agrees, accepting her choice, her decision, without a fight for the first time since he's entered her life.

He shuffles back, pulls her into him, as they both lie on the sofa, her back to his front, his arms wrapped tightly around her.

"We'll just stay here, together, until you…"

"Thanks, Damon." Elena chokes out, and kisses his hand again.

"It will always be you, Elena." He whispers in her ear, as he sends her the most peaceful and beautiful dream; of love and happiness, and a promise of forever.

Because even if it's only just a dream, in one place in time, they're living they're happily ever after.


End file.
